


Skeleton's New Pillow

by AfflictedwithAlliteration



Series: Cotton Candy [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: +bonus?, 5+1 Things, All the silly, Fluff and Humor, NON-GENDERED READER, Papyrus did not ask for all these pillows, Reader-Insert, Relationship or not?, Sans abuses his teleportation, Shenanigans, Silly, Slightly dubious consented cuddling?, drabble-ish, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfflictedwithAlliteration/pseuds/AfflictedwithAlliteration
Summary: Five times Sans uses you as a pillow and the one time you use him back.





	Skeleton's New Pillow

It starts out innocent enough. 

You’re watching the movie, Papyrus fangirling over Mettaton in the background when a thump against your shoulder makes you glance to the side. White bone invades your vision and you can hear the softest of snores in your ear. As tempted as you are to shake Sans awake—because that can’t be comfortable—you kind of think it’s cute. 

Cute enough that you don’t wake him.

So really, it’s your fault.

* * *

The movie isn’t your thing, but Frisk was always managing to sucker you into these action flicks with those puppy eyes and a well-placed compliment. 

Which is why the whole theater shushes you in shock when you let out a sudden, sharp shriek. 

Because your empty lap is now full of skeleton.

And that is the only reason you aren’t still screaming. 

If there weren’t people sitting in the row in front of you, you’d shove him to the floor but for now you hiss in his ear, “Sans, what the actual hell?!” 

“S’fine. Just had to find my pillow.”

“…I am not a pillow.”

A soft snore and your head thumping into the back of the chair are all that replies to your pouty statement.

* * *

It’s not your room. 

You blink tiredly up at the ceiling, the sun peeking through the curtains telling you it is morning, so this is not a dream. But it is also most definitely not your room. The hands around your waist and head buried in your neck are all the explanation you need. 

At the same time…

This is far too much for your sleep addled mind to process. You relax back into the bed and curl around Sans mumbling about not sharing his pillow.

* * *

“Sans!”

You don’t even know why this is surprising anymore. Now you just groan at the added weight, which is far less that it could be, on your back. You can feel his lips moving and suppress the panicked giggle at the sensation. 

“Sup?”

“That can’t be comfortable, I’m not a couch.” You mumble into the actual couch. The one he is failing to use, curled up on your back like an over-sized house cat.

“Sofa it feels fine to me.”

“Sans, no.” You moan into the cushions.

“I couch believe you feel that way. You love my jokes.”

“I will throw you off.” And suddenly he’s far too heavy for you to move, like a weighted blanket and you feel yourself relax. Sneaky little—“You suck."

“Chair up, kiddo, plenty more where that came from.”

* * *

“Please hold.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“Let me transfer you.”

You could probably answer the phones in your sleep. The words ingrained in your brain so well that it was hard to answer your personal phone without switching into work mode. In fact, you hadn’t had a slip up at work since your first six months. 

Which is why everyone takes note.

“How can I—what the fuck?!” You slam the receiver down before you can say anything else, face red as several heads peer up over the cubicle walls. You throw your jacket over Sans and smile awkwardly, “Stapled my finger!”

Sympathetic nods and the faces disappear so you can rip the blanket off the skeleton currently using your lap as a pillow. The rest of him is stretched out on a trail of stools—which makes you wonder where, why and most importantly _how_ did he get those in here without anyone noticing—eyes already closed. 

You breathe in deeply through your nose but swallow down your outrage and the weird familiarity of the situation as you continue to answer calls. But your brain is far away as you stroke the skeletons head idly, lost in thought. 

It’s time for payback.

* * *

“OH MY!” Papyrus gasps and you grin, smug and defiant but while Sans looks both amused and shocked, he is also smug. Smugger than someone who has a room stuffed to the ceiling with pillows has any right to be. 

“Ain’t the right pillow, sweetheart.”

“What.” Because seriously. _What_. There’s like, a hundred pillows in his room, one of those will work. His grin widens now. Like a Cheshire cat, he knows something you don’t. 

He rolls his shoulders in a careless shrug, “When you find a good pillow, lemme know.”

You’ll show this brat good pillows. Your eyes narrow as he walks into the pillow room like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

* * *

The lazy skeleton is right in front of you. You grin. Time to get to work!

With no hesitation you stride up to the hotdog stand where Sans is sitting, he gives you a wave—if you can call the hand flop a wave—but you don’t return it. You are focused. You are _determined_. 

He raises an eye ridge as you walk around the stand, plop yourself on his lap and bury your face the collar of the fluffy jacket. His hands reach up to hold you in place as your body relaxes, the comforting scent of chalk and tang filling your nose. Already you feel a wave of sleep hit you, like a Pavlovian response. 

This was…the opposite of what you planned. 

You planned to embarrass Sans. 

Just like he embarrassed you, but you had to admit, you were exhausted. Between work and helping Papyrus move the pillows to storage—because it was “NOT MY MESS, HUMAN! WHAT DO I DO WITH ALL THE PILLOWS?!”—you hadn’t actually slept in almost twenty-four hours. And he was so comfy? Was it the jacket? Magic? ~~Were you so used to him that you couldn't sleep without him?~~

The rumble of his chest is soothing. Or it would be if you weren’t on fire from embarrassment. But you can’t back down now and you definitely can’t look him in the eye so you stay where you are as he laughs. 

“Comfy, sweetheart?”

“Truce.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod into his jacket; you just want a nap. You’re willing to compromise for a nap, “No more sneak cuddles and no more work cuddles—” Well. You’ve already broken that. And he basically took a lunch all day…“I mean. No more work cuddles without talking about it.”

There’s no need to look up to see his smug expression. 

“Knew you’d find us a good pillow.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You mumble, already half asleep.

And if you wake up in the storage closest with the pillows, well, the entire house hears your cries of vengeance.

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff! I think! An apology fluff for my not-as-fluff-as-I-thought previous story XD


End file.
